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Resonance

MIGUEL SERRANOThe first night I spent at my parents’ house, after nearly ten years, I was kept awake by a feeling of nostalgia. I went out on to the balcony and saw the effects of time on the neighbourhood. It was no longer the neighbourhood of my childhood. Now it looked clearer, brighter. At three o’clock in the morning I got dressed and went out for a walk. While I was walking across the Puente de Piedra, I felt the rumble of the Ebro beneath my feet and a voice that said: Have you come back, Julian? It was a firm, steady voice, playing inside my inner self. There was nobody around. It was as if the bridge itself had produced that voice. The wind, going nowhere, accompanied me. The Basilica del Pilar also spoke to me, as did La Seo, on the other side of the river: You’re back, Julian. We really missed you! Their vertical, hoarse voices chanted, almost festive-like, mixed with thousands of screams, muffled sounds. All friends of mine. I walked on, crossing the square. It’s all here! Everything’s still here! a solid, angular building yelled at me, with its translucent base trying to stand in my way. I went around it and rushed euphorically, either full or bereft of sleep, into the narrow streets leading out of the square. The voices continued, overlapping one another, fighting over me. Behind me, the Lonja or Corn Exchange whispered: You’ve been travelling a lot. It’s time to take a rest. I dodged out of the way of a Renaissance palace that was bearing down on me and ended up, almost frozen to death, in an alleyway. I stopped to catch my breath, beside myself with glee, with my hands on my legs. It was there that I heard the clear and unexpected voice of my father, who seemed to be at least twenty years younger. It’s late, he chuckled in something akin to an echo. We’d better go back home.